


Things That Were Once Unseen

by Newtdew25



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Fluff and Humor, HollowHeart - Freeform, Horace-Centric, M/M, Prophetic Dreams, Romantic Fluff, Secret Relationship, Sharing Clothes, Slice of Life, Walking In On Someone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 09:40:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9433367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Newtdew25/pseuds/Newtdew25
Summary: Horace knew his dreams would be realized within a few days of having them. But as of late, his dreams haven't exactly been clear. Even worse, they were of unfashionable clothes. But still, life must go on in their home on fair Cairnholm.or, a story where Horace's dreams lead him to discover something about Jacob and Enoch, although not in a way he would have ever hoped for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so some more Hollowheart, but fluffy and happy this time! As a word of warning, nothing explicitly sexual happens in this story, but there is a brief situation that has sexual themes. You have been warned.
> 
> Also, the word "queer" is used in its historical context a few times, not as a slur.
> 
> Finally, I imagined a backstory of sorts for Horace because these children deserve more love.

The red silk pyjamas were one of Horace’s dearest possessions. It was as if his memories of living in luxury with his parents and older sister were woven into the seams of the fabric. When he settled down under the blanket of his bed with the silk pressed against his skin, Horace could easily imagine he was back in his family’s estate in Cardiff, Wales, listening to his father reading him a fairy tale while his mother kissed his forehead. Once upon a time, he hoped that he would dream of them and learn what had happened to them. That was at least half a century ago.

            His dreams now revolved around changes that would come about in the next few resets. A squirrel surrounded by roots became Fiona saving the falling rodent when Emma had taken Jacob... somewhere. The vision of a baton turning to stone was realized as the Twins revealing their faces to some police officers that had come to the home. But his most recent dream of an eagle with a grey button-up shirt in its beak had made no sense to him. Was there an ymbryne named Miss Eagle coming to visit them? _“Likely not,”_ Horace reminded himself. _“It’d be much too dangerous for an ymbryne to leave their loop, lest they fail to reset it._

_Besides, a name like that just sounds ridiculous.”_

            So Horace decided to leave the idea for now and closed his eyes, hoping for dreams about clothes that were actually fashionable.

///

            “Horace,” Miss Peregrine called out from the main hall. “Could you please fetch Emma? The chandelier still needs to be dusted.” Horace put down the book he was looking through and went from the parlour to the back door. Hugh was standing by one of the topiary sculptures when a football flew past his head. At once, bees came flying out of the boy’s mouth and swarmed a patch of air, which was likely Millard going about in the nude. Again. Clucking his tongue in disgust, Horace took a right turn and went towards the vegetable garden.

            The sound of something coming out of the earth became more prominent as he walked past the various plants that were growing at their usual pace. Fiona was kneeling on the cobblestone path, her face twisted in concentration as she held her hands out towards a rapidly growing potato. Behind her were Emma and Jacob, the latter staring intently at the vegetable as its roots spiraled around it. “I thought you’d already seen Fiona’s peculiarity,” Horace said as he joined the three of them. Jacob stammered as his concentration broke. “I-I did, but it’s still… Just wow…” With a nod, Horace turned to Emma. “Miss Peregrine needs you, I’ll call Bronwyn over.” The older girl went off, muttering about the chandelier and how it didn’t matter since the loop would reset anyways.

            As Jacob knelt down and put his hand against the potato, Horace looked him over with a mix of fascination and fear. His pants were made of denim, and the dark jacket he was wearing was likely a mix of fleece and some other synthetic material. The very thought of such fabrics against his skin made Horace shudder. “At least the shirts of the future are still fashionable,” he remarked, studying the American boy’s grey button-up. Jacob looked down at his clothes, tugging at the shirt self-consciously. “Oh, this isn’t mine,” he explained. “I borrowed it from Enoch. I’ll throw it into the wash later.”

            “Why did you… never mind, it’s none of my business,” Horace muttered as he began walking back to the parlour. Enoch O’Connor could be described as many things, but generous? That didn’t quite top the list. _“Maybe he’s got it laced with poison or something else he keeps in those jars of his. Enoch’s nothing if not devious.”_

///

            Later that evening, Miss Peregrine had prepared a hearty potato stew for them. Large bowls of steaming, aromatic soup were eagerly wolfed down by the children with the occasional story or joke offered (mostly from Millard, who had put on clothes for once without a reminder from Miss Peregrine). Horace, as famished as he was, had more pressing issues on his mind. Namely, Enoch’s sudden attitude change towards Jacob. The former was no longer hostile or even cold as he had been for the many decades that Horace had spent with him. Instead, Enoch had chosen to sit beside Jacob, the two chatting amicably with one another as if they had been the ones living together in the loop for so long. When a sudden thumping from underneath the table interrupted the meal, Jacob mumbled an apology for what he claimed was a leg spasm. Enoch, in his usual fashion, took delight in the American boy experiencing some kind of embarrassment. What differed was the way that the two of them looked at one another before continuing with their meal.

            _“Oh Lord, help us. His American quirks are already corrupting our lives.”_

            “Enoch,” Miss Peregrine said, breaking Horace’s thoughts. “I ask that when you come inside that you take the time to stamp out any mud you have on your shoes.” This time, Jacob was the one to laugh at the other boy being called out, although he wasn’t alone. As the children made playful jabs at Enoch, Horace discreetly nudged his spoon off the table. Mumbling an excuse, he knelt down and tried to peer through the shadows at Enoch’s feet.

Sure enough, there was a considerable pile of caked dirt on the floor. But the boots he was wearing were a drastic change from the conservative oxford shoes that Enoch always wore. No, these boots were much more… modern. The same could be said for his trousers. No, not trousers. Enoch was wearing denim pants, the kind that would be worn by labourers and farmers. Horace only recognized the material from Fiona, who on occasion would wear overalls when she worked in the garden. It was a textile that Horace had little regard for, since it was so below his tastes. Apart from the fact that Fiona and Enoch could never share clothes, the latter’s pants were frayed and had a tear at the knee. Such garish style could only come from one person…

            “Horace, is everything alright?”

            “Huh? Ye-Yes!” he stammered as he sat back up. “I just lost my spoon, that’s all.” Claire looked over at him, unconvinced, but she returned to what was left of her soup. Since it would be messy to try and bring the spoon to her extra mouth, Claire simply ate it the way normal people would. Horace, however, had lost his appetite. Not only had he seen the future through Jacob’s monstrosity of a jacket, but Enoch had fallen victim to the American’s horrendous fashion sense.

///

            There were two dreams that night. The first was about clothes again, though ones that were a bit more appealing to him. A pair of worn trousers suspended in a cylinder of water. When Horace reached out to touch them, the trousers stretched a bit. The braces that hung around an invisible frame fell slackly at the sides; that was the extent of the first prophecy. They rarely lasted long and this was not an exception.

            It was now a realm different from the one from seconds ago. Horace was standing alone in the middle of a blank white void with an empty glass jar in his hands, its lid the tiniest crack open. Just as in the story of Pandora, he resisted the urge to open up the container. Yet in the vein of the myth, Horace’s curiosity overrode his reasoning and he took hold of the lid. As his fingers touched the glass, steam began to pour out of the seemingly empty jar. Even as he pressed the lid down, the steam continued to surround him, trapping him in a fog. Beyond that was sleep.

///

            Nothing interesting had happened until 1:00 in the afternoon, late into the children’s daily walk along the beach. By some odd turn of events, Jacob had actually joined the walk while Enoch had slept in. Horace was near the back of the group with Fiona and Claire in tow. When they had left the house, Jacob was eagerly telling stories about life in the future. His tales of cars that ran on electrical power and aeroplanes that could carry hundreds of people around the world were interesting, but seemed too farfetched. Telephones that could fit into a person’s pocket? Those were another story.

            “So you can use your finger to control what the phone does,” he explained to the group when they had stopped at the beach. “Like how right now, I’m doing this sliding motion to control which pictures I want to look at.” As Jacob talked, he used his finger to show different pictures on his cellular telephone. Some were of him and his friend Ricky (yet another fashion disaster, particularly the green hair) sitting in the latter’s car. There was one of Jacob’s parents standing in front of a house with a sign that read “Sold.” He paused on a picture of himself at the beach, commenting on “how pale” he looked. As Jacob moved to the next picture, his face slowly grew red, his finger sliding quickly as if to move on to a different photo. “H-How about I take a picture of all of you?” he suggested, holding the device close to him. “Y’know, as a memory.” Miss Peregrine, no doubt intrigued by the idea of a new form of photography, was quick to organize the children. While she was placing each of them, Horace was watching how Jacob was holding his cellular telephone at different angles, never quite satisfied with the end result. After getting down on one knee and repositioning the device, Jacob stood back up and dusted off his pants.

            No, not pants. Trousers. Jacob was wearing a pair of trousers that Horace supposed was no longer fashionable in his time. The light brown tweed clashed horrendously with his dark jacket and white undershirt, and to make matters worse, the boy’s braces weren’t even on his body. Was it _cool_ , as Jacob put it, to wear clothing the wrong way? _“I mean, the braces are there to keep your trousers up.”_ Horace thought with a frown. _“They’re useless if they’re just attached and hanging uselessly.”_ With the prophetic dream from last night fresh in his mind, he mustered up what he hoped resembled a smile and looked at where Jacob was pointing. His dreams were rarely realized with such little delay; Horace feared for what the steam could become. Clothes were relatively harmless, but as he had come to know, the unknown can be malevolent.

///

            After the walk, Miss Peregrine had allowed the children some free time while she attended to some business in the main part of Cairnholm. Hugh and Millard had suggested another game of football on the condition that the latter remain clothed. With nothing else to do until the evening, the older children decided to join in as well. “Wouldn’t we need shoulder pads?” Jacob asked, gesturing to his body confusedly. “I mean, people could get hurt if we’re not playing safe…” There was a period of awkward silence that was only broken by Enoch laughing harshly. “You really cannot be that dense, can you?” he sneered, shaking his head. “What we call football, you Yanks probably call soccer.”

            “…I knew that. I was… just being concerned for the little ones, y’know?”

            Horace decided to step back and simply watch the game from the shade of the topiaries. After deciding on where the goal posts would be, Hugh took his team of Emma, Fiona, and Enoch to other end of the yard as Millard formed a huddle with Jacob, Bronwyn, and Olive. If he was being completely honest with himself, Horace didn’t pay much attention to what was going on. He was more concerned with cooling himself off while still looking presentable. Therefore, he only looked up at the game when one team scored a goal or when the teams got into an argument. Horace felt himself falling asleep in the cool afternoon air when the shouting passed the usual limits of a friendly game and into full blown worry.

            “...just my shoulder, I’m fine.”

            “Could you just get off of me first?”

            “Oh bloody hell, Jacob. I’m injured; give me a break.”

            Bronwyn picked up Enoch with ease and prepared to carry him over her shoulder before the boy started to protest. Jacob probably would have remained lying down on the ground if Hugh’s bees hadn’t flown near his face. As Emma helped him sit up, Enoch trudged back into the house, clutching his shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go up to my room and have my soldiers kill one another,” he muttered as he moved past Horace.

            Miss Peregrine had come back to the home at this time and could only watch as Jacob followed Enoch into the house. Knowing better than to press the matter, she announced that they would have lamb for supper as she gestured to the animal beside her. “But please, children, do make sure that you are clean and presentable,” Miss Peregrine added, glancing not-so-discreetly at the door where Enoch and Jacob had just entered the house. “Oh, and could someone please remind Enoch to bring down his empty jars? I suspect that a good number of them will require washing.” Without waiting for a volunteer, she simply nodded at Horace before bringing the lamb into the kitchen. Throwing up his hands in resignation, Horace got up from his spot on the ground and headed for the door.

            With every step he took up the stairs, he mused on the implications of leaving Enoch’s jars in his room. As far as Horace could figure, there wasn’t a smell coming from the room. _“Perhaps Enoch washes the jars on his time,”_ he thought as he climbed the last step. _“He may be moody, but I doubt he’s one for disorder.”_ From what he could see down the hall, the door to Enoch’s room was ajar, albeit the faintest bit.

            _“What if I just shouted at him from here? No, that wouldn’t do; he might be distracted with his murderous creatures again.”_

_“Oh my good Lord, Jacob’s American laziness has now infected me.”_

Somewhat disappointed in himself, Horace sighed and finished the excruciatingly long journey down the hallway until he was at Enoch’s door. While he had intended to knock, the pace at which he had walked had caused the door to open slightly, revealing the lair of the home’s resident mad doctor. Horace peered through the crack between the door and the wall. A table cluttered with parts both plastic and metallic. A shelf lined with jars containing God-knows-what. A bed with mussed sheets and clothes and... limbs?

            Horace could have just gone back downstairs and told Miss Peregrine that he forgot to relay the message. _“Except she’s keen on detecting lies.”_ Another option would be to politely knock and ask Enoch if they could speak. _“That would be the best way of doing things.”_ But in times of confusion, Horace wasn’t known for thinking things all the way through.

            So he opened the door and let himself in.

            He wasn’t sure if the gasp came from him or from Enoch or from Jacob. It was likely a mixture of all three, but for entirely different reasons. Horace clasped his hands over his mouth as Enoch sat up from where he was lying down, causing a confused Jacob to mutter something indistinct until he saw what the other boy was looking at. The American boy took his hands off of Enoch and sat away from him. Both boys were in a shameful state of undress, with Jacob’s shirt lying on the floor and his pants unbuttoned, just revealing his blue striped underwear. Enoch wasn’t much better off with his shirt hanging open on his chest and his trousers pulled down to his ankles. As if it was a work of art rather than an interrupted moment of intimacy, the blanket had been pulled over Enoch’s groin, leaving little to the imagination.

            The silence was stifling, and the lingering smell of hormones and whatever fluid was in the jars did little to help. Jacob had slowly begun to redress himself and was reaching for his shirt on the ground when Horace managed to say anything. “Enoch,” he slowly began. “Miss Peregrine wants you to wash out your jars.” As he turned to leave, Horace added, “Also, I think you’d better explain yourselves at supper, lest Miss Peregrine be the one to catch you snogging.” With a definitive nod, he left the room and went downstairs, leaving the two others to their own business. Whether it was getting dressed or the exact opposite, Horace wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

///

            “...So what you’re saying is that queerness is accepted in the future?” Millard asked after taking a drink of water. Jacob nodded hesitantly as he set down his cutlery. “Well, it depends,” he started. “Like, some people are okay with it, but others aren’t. I haven’t told my parents yet. I’m waiting until I feel comfortable enough to do so.”

            After coming down to the dining room (appropriately dressed, as Horace silently noted), both Jacob and Enoch sat at the empty seats at the table. Without so much as a beat, the latter announced that “Jacob and I are queer,” much to the surprise of everyone sitting at the table. While Horace didn’t have to exactly feign shock, the bluntness of the statement was still unexpected. He half-expected Miss Peregrine to sternly order them out of the dining room for using such language in front of the likes of Claire and the Twins. Instead, the Bird hardly looked up from her own meal and asked the two boys to explain themselves, which led to the sort of questioning period that was mostly fueled by Millard.

            “However, Jacob,” Miss Peregrine began, “I do hope you feel comfortable telling us about you and Enoch. After all, queer love is hardly the most peculiar thing here.” She smiled up at the rest of the children as she stood up. “If any of you still have questions, don’t be afraid to ask myself or Jacob. Enoch, that goes for you as well.” With an air of finality, she left the dining room, no doubt going up to her personal study. As soon as Miss Peregrine was out of earshot, Hugh leapt out of his chair, leaning over the table to look at Jacob. “So does this mean that you two are going to get married now?”

            “Uh, that’s kinda.. I dunno...”

            “I wouldn’t rule out the idea.”

            Jacob looked over at Enoch, hiding his red face in the other boy’s neck. Emma and Olive were giggling between themselves, as were the rest of the children. If what Jacob said was true, then they could get married, provided they found some method of getting to the present day. “Portman-O’Connor...” Horace mumbled aloud. “Or maybe O’Connor-Portman?” Jacob abruptly got up, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “A-Anyways, how about I clean up the dishes while the rest of you do... whatever it is you usually do?” The younger children cheered (or in the case of the Twins, hissed excitedly) and scattered throughout the house. Horace got up and was about to follow Emma and Olive to the parlour when he took one last look into the dining room. Although they were turned around, he could see Jacob leaning over the table to grab the plates. When Enoch hugged him from behind, the boy yelped and dropped what was in his hands. Horace could just hear Jacob whispering something about Enoch’s hands being cold when Olive tapped him on the shoulder, beckoning him to leave the two older boys to their own devices.

///

            That night, Horace was carefully walking down the stairs to get the monocle he had left in the parlour from earlier. His steps weren’t slow, but rather cautious. Having lived in the house for decades, Horace knew which floorboards were squeaky and could avoid them with his eyes shut. That, however, was not an invitation to take a chance, since taking chances led to stupidity. So he snuck his way down to the parlour with his eyes open.

            As he opened the door, Horace could faintly see an unfamiliar shadow on the couch. He shone a dim light out of his eye, a projection of past dreams just bright enough to allow him to see. On the table in front of the couch lay the monocle he had set down by mistake. On the couch itself was Jacob, snoring as he clung to a sleeping Enoch who had his arm around him. Taking pity on the two lovebirds, Horace picked up a quilt from one of the armchairs in the corner and placed it over the two of them. As he picked up the monocle and turned to leave, he swore he could see Enoch’s mouth lift into a rare smile.

            As Horace lay under his bed sheets, he pressed the silk of his pyjamas to his face and willed himself to have pleasant dreams. The mere fact that two of his friends found happiness in each other didn’t make that hard to do.


End file.
